


Do You Think The Universe Fights For Souls To Be Together?

by Lolymoon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Divergence, F/F, Fisting, Mild Kink, Mommy Issues, Seven Deadly Sins, Shameless Smut, Swan Queen Week, Swan Queen Week Winter 2016, Swan-Mills Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolymoon/pseuds/Lolymoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entries for Swan Queen Week, or, as I like to call it, how to turn every prompt into smut. Unrelated ficlets often deriving from canon (thank god), includes bothersome Camelot dresses, horny Emma, relentless Regina, horse nerds, and probably chocolate at some point, who knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lust

She's been cursed, that much is true.

 

But what her family blissfully ignores is that the curse that's doing the most ravage on her mind isn't the one that comes from a dagger and a stain of darkness gnawing at her soul.

They know nothing about the spell that's been cast on her ever since her skin touched Regina's skin, about the nightmare of lust her life has turned into after that first kiss, that first thrust of her fingers into Regina's silky heat, that first whisper of blood-painted lips brushing the lobe of her ear, _“make me come, Emma...”_

 

She fidgets on her seat, desperately trying to pay attention to the discussion heating up in the room, but nothing that has happened inside Merlin's tower in the last hour is of enough interest to tear her mind away from frustrating daydreams and arousing memories. Nothing, not even her own fate, can make her look away from Regina. From the way the sunlight tickles the tip of her nose and dances on her cheekbones. From that small strand of hair gently blowing in the light wind seeping through a crack in the window. From those lips, for once wearing a natural, rosy shade of lipstick, frowning at every dumb propositions, and Emma is transfixed by those pursing lips, that tightened opening that sends her back by unexpected association to last night's scandalous activities, and she can feel her fingers roaming over Regina's ass again, can hear the sharp hitch in the brunette's throat as she spreads out the toned cheeks and blows gently on the quivering hole, she can hear Regina's tortured moan vibrating so vividly in her bedchamber as her digit slides ever-so-carefully into her snug little asshole –

 

Emma gasps and coughs quickly as she feels ghost fingers running over the bare skin of her calf, where her dress has hiked up as she's crossed her legs, and she lifts her eyes to meet Regina's questionning gaze, then subtle smirk as the witch, no doubt, guesses what has been on her mind by the blush rapidly growing on her cheeks.

 

“Are you all right, honey?” Mary Margaret asks her, and Emma looks everywhere but at the doe-eyed woman, because how can you look into your mother's eyes after the filth that has just flashed through your mind.

She clears her throat, runs a twitchy hand through her curls, and nearly jump as she feels a light tickle under her chin, glaring hard at Regina who looks the perfect picture of innocence with slightly curled fingers resting in false nonchalance on the table.

“I think,” she says between gritted teeth, her heart galloping in her chest as Regina's magic softly strokes the base of her nape, “that I need to take a break.”

She catches her parents exchanging a quick, worried glance, and some unresolved anger worms its way through the haze of lust in which she is drowning.

“But Emma... this is your soul we're talking about here. Maybe you should show a little more concern –”

“Snow, if Emma is tired maybe she should go rest for a while, we'll tell her if we come up with anything.”

“She should be here, David, she should be involved, I don't want to make decisions without her again!”

“Well that could start with actually talking to me as if I was there and not over me,” she spits out before she can stop herself, rising up briskly from her seat in one grand gesture that leads her nowhere, because once she's up and facing the shocked, anxious (amused?) eyes of everyone, she doesn't know what to do and doesn't want to apologize.

“Or maybe,” a sarcastic voice eventually chimes in, “we should stop handling you with kid's gloves and start knocking some sense into your head about the gravity of the situation. A word in the hallway, please, Miss Swan.”

She trails behind Regina, pretending to drag her feet like a moody teenager when in fact she can feel the butterflies butting headfirst against her belly in excitement.

 

When the door is closed and they've walked down the stairs to the next room, she explodes:

“You've got some balls asking me to show more care about the situation when you're the one using mumbo-jumbo to make me horny!”

She mentally curses herself at her slip-up, Regina's lips curling like a cat's sneer.

“Oh, I hardly think you needed my little incentives to make you horny, dear. You were pratically drooling while you ogled me shamelessly for about an hour. If you want this little affair of ours to remain a secret, Miss Swan, I suggest you get better control of your urges.”

Emma's temper flares up, but she reins it in at the last minute, defying Regina with a smug grin of her own.

“You were singing another tune last night, your majesty, when I had my fingers deep up your –”

“Shut up,” Regina hisses, casting a worried look up at the ceiling, as if the others could hear them. “Do you want your mother to have a heart attack?”

“I think you should be more worried about my father coming at you with a sword if he learns about how you made me sit on your face while –”

“Emma!” she gasps in outrage, grabbing her arm and drawing her away from the entrance and near the opposing wall, furious – and slightly wild – eyes boring holes into her.

“It's working, isn't it?” she whispers as she presses herself against Regina's side, backing her against the wall, ignoring the other woman pursing her lips in disapproval and focusing on the way her hand tenses on her arm.

“What?”

“You're getting horny too.”

Regina scoffs, letting go of her arm with a disgusted frown, quickly, as if she's been burned.

“First of all, Miss Swan, I do not get _horny_ as I am not a hormone-driven teenager. Second –”

“Fine,” Emma snorts, rolling her eyes. “You get _wet_.”

And, as if to prove her point, she burrows an eager hand between Regina's legs, pressing against her crotch and mourning the thickness of the dress that stands in her way.

“Emma,” Regina says again, the name airy on her lips, no longer sounding like a scolding despite her efforts.

Emma closes her eyes as she nuzzles that soft, sensitive place where shoulder meets neck, thanking after cursing it the Camelot outfit for its wide collar. Her hand starts working in slow and deliberate motion against Regina's sex, and she smiles as the queen eventually responds to her touch, rocking her hips in rhythm.

“I can't stop missing it, you know,” she rasps in the crook of Regina's neck, her tongue fluttering briefly against the warm and shivering skin. “Your taste. Ever since we came here, when I first got my lips on you. Ever since I plunged my tongue deep inside your cunt.” Regina moans her protest at the crude word, but her shallow breathing and lip biting belies it. Emma is staring at her now, hand gently running up and down the smooth column of her throat, taking in every little shift on Regina's highly expressive face, lashes fluttering, mouth opening, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring. She starts brushing her lips against every worshipped feature, one hand pressing harder between Regina's legs, the other wandering to squeeze one breast, and she's speaking over Regina's lips now, swallowing every gasp of the queen in her own mouth.

“I can't stop picturing you... with your legs spread out, waiting for me, your finger ordering me to come and eat you up... your face when you come... fuck, Regina, you're beautiful, you are, but when you come it's like fireworks and sunrises and fucking rainbows all at once, you're magnificent, I want to see you every day –”

“Emma,” Regina pants with that high-pitched note in her voice the blonde has come to recognize as the sign of her lover being soaking wet, and screw this stupid dress, she'll have that naked, glistening flesh in her hand if that's the last thing she does.

 

She goes down on her knees so quickly they bump and scrape against the stone, but she doesn't have time for this minor discomfort to put a halt to her task. She bunches up the red velvet of Regina's dress in her hands and tucks her head under it, letting it drape over her, her nose immediately nestled into Regina's heat, and she sighs luxuriously.

She hears Regina's chuckle, muffled by the dress.

“Red was always more your color, dear.”

She smirks, and decides to take her time now that she has what she wants, namely Regina open and willing before her. Slowly, she peels off the soaked panties and slides them down elegantly toned legs. Then, she rakes up her nails along the creamy thighs, several times, and keeps going as she flickers that cute, swollen clit with just the tip of her tongue. She goes on with dedication until Regina's hips start bucking helplessly and she hears her name flies out in the air one more time. She thrusts her tongue inside the folds quivering for her touch, moaning deeply as the rich and salty taste fills her mouth, her head getting dizzy at the onslaught of sensations, as the smell surrounds her and the velvet-like walls clench around her tongue. She takes a few, measured breaths, and starts pushing as deep as she can with her tongue, going excruciatingly slow at first, then providing Regina with quick, shallow thrusts. Her fingers tickle lightly the patch of skin between her thighs and ass, making the queen squirm in her grasp, and she keeps it up until she thinks she can hear a squeal and she feels Regina's hands push against her head, fingers uselessly aching to tug at golden locks that have disappeared under her skirts.

Emma pulls back for air and lets her fingers take over, two digits slipping in easily like through butter, one thumb gently drumming on the erected clit, and she waits for the keening noises her queen never fails to make at this particular moment leading to her orgasm, but she can't hear her well through the cloth, and she groans, miffed, stops her ministrations, and crawls back out, finally getting her sweaty, red face out into the open air again.

 

“What do you think you're doing?” Regina spits between gritted teeth (and the flush spread out over her cheeks make them appealing enough to eat them), but Emma, struggling to catch her breath, lifts a finger to silence her, and tugs at her dress.

“We need this out of the way,” she rasps, and is faced with a naked Regina, saved for the corset pushing up her breasts in a way that begs for the sin, before her last word is out.

She wastes no time in diving back into the queen's unfairly savory cunt, and now she can hear them all, those undignified and glorious sounds Regina makes as the tension builds up in her body. Emma pumps three fingers in, her face squished into Regina's belly, murmuring encouragements into her skin slick with sweat, and it doesn't take much, just a few pinches on her clit for Regina's orgasm to crash in, rumbling against Emma's fingers, exploding in a long, suffering scream the ravished woman can't hold back, and maybe now everyone in Merlin's tower is aware of how the Dark One blows off some steam when things get tough, but who cares, she smiles against Regina, kissing her trembling belly and feeding her orgasm until her gasps have turned to sobs. Emma gets up (with a wince for her aching knees) to gather in her arms the softly delirious woman, eyelids heavy with pleasure and mouth quite unable to remember how to close again.

 

“Every day,” Emma sighs, nuzzling her nose into the dark, messy locks. “I'd do this every fucking hour of every day...”

She feels Regina's hand cupping her cheek, and she pushes back her head to meet striklingly bright eyes drowned in gold water.

There's a moment, an intense stare of vulnerability, of deep sayings and mixed feelings like gratitude and grief and – lust? love? – then Regina smirks, and it becomes about sex again.

“You couldn't handle that, Miss Swan. Trust me. We haven't reached the beginning of the things I'm going to make you do.”

Emma cocks her head, eyes wondering, then chuckles in defeat.

“You set up that whole thing, didn't you? You were the one who wanted a quick fuck against the wall. That was naughty, Madame Mayor.”

Regina's eyes glimmer dangerously and she digs her fingers into Emma's ass, bringing her impossibly closer, growling in her ear: “Not as naughty as what we're going to do tonight, Miss Swan.”

Emma lets the tingles run their course down her spine, then wiggles her eyebrows.

“Can't wait.”

Regina huffs, and suddenly the tension has fled the room, playful banter and amused fondness replacing the animalistic need brimming between their bodies.

 

Regina snaps her fingers, draping her dress over her curves again, laughing at Emma's pouting lips.

“I think it's time we go back to the valiant heroes' council. Now that you hopefully have gotten your obsession out of your system.”

Emma gives her a pointed glare, as if to say 'you're one to talk' and shakes her head, gazing out of the window.

“Don't wanna. It's useless. They're just discussing the same stuff and going through the same books over and over again so they won't face the fact that they don't know how to save me. They're helpless and they know it.”

“I still think we can find a way to free Merlin from that tree,” she hears Regina says, her voice so very soft, and she doesn't look at her and only shrugs, because her eyes burn all of a sudden.

That is until Regina's hand cradles her cheek again and forces her to look back at her and those frightening, too-bright, too-deep eyes.

“But even if we don't find anything – even if we don't find a way to break this curse – this is not over, Emma. I trust you to be stronger than this. Than me.”

Regina gently tucks a golden lock back behind her ear in an absent-minded gesture born out of motherly habit that makes Emma's heart seize painfully into her chest.

“I don't mind the darkness. I see you, Emma.”

The kiss is urgent and needed and Regina seems to pour every emotions into it, every repressed words she can only echo with her touch.

 

 

Emma remains with her eyes closed long after she's gone, holding on to the fading flavors of Regina's multiple, intriguing shades.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated and treasured <3


	2. Gluttony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's naughty.

The noises erupting in the room are _delirious_ – Emma's not sure she can look into a mirror ever again after these shameless yodeling. Not that it's been a particularly pleasant task lately because of this awful spray-painted color on her hair that makes her look like a German nanny out of some bad black and white drama from the fifties, but she doesn't need to add mortification to disgrace.

 

“Miss Swan, do you think you could focus on what you're doing?” rasps a furious voice, and she glances down to meet the hard eyes of a panting and pissed-off Regina. Emma quirks an eyebrow at the clarity of her enunciation for a woman who's been thoroughly fucked for the last hour or so (she's not really counting at this point), and gives her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, my hand's kinda cramped.”

“Are you serious?”

“Well you're the one who insisted on me fucking you 'til you passed out, so I was really putting my heart into it, you know?”

Regina rolls her eyes and winds her fingers around Emma's wrist, squeezing perhaps a little too roughly as she tears her fingers away from her overheated sex. Emma just has enough time to see her smirk slightly before being rolled over on her back, Regina using the cleverly hidden strength of her legs to switch positions.

“I guess I'll just have to take care of things myself until you recover, Em-ma.”

That's her new thing, now, dragging her name like she's slowly sucking on it, lips smacking against each other, scornful but deliberatly alluring.

Regina slaps her thighs, not unkindly, to urge Emma to spread them open, and for a brief moment she fears Regina's going to work her up to a new earth-shattering orgasm and she – she feels her walls clench in agony at the thought – she just can't handle another one.

But Regina merely straddles one of her thighs, primly sitting across it as if she's on the back of one of her goddam show horses, and she actually starts riding her, hips lazily rocking at first, then stepping up the pace, and Emma gets to watch it all while she just lies back and breathes and stares in awe, she watches the muscled thighs flex in urgency, the taut stomach so tense it almost seems to vibrate, the breasts bounce in rhythm, nipples hard as rocks and delightfully red from her bites, and when Regina throws her head back, revealing the graceful arch of her throat, Emma can't help but moan along, enthralled by the vision of this dark Amazone riding her into oblivion.

 

Regina comes with an excited little cry, her folds so drenched she slips from Emma's thigh and lies back on the bed next to her, eyes closed, forearm wiping the sweat off her brow. She turns her head to smile at Emma as the blonde starts drawing patterns on her belly, silly faces and clouds and twisters that Regina can't see but that make her lips twitch with barely-restrained laughter.

“I take it your hand is rested enough?”

Emma groans and slouches over Regina's naked form, burying her head between her breasts.

“Again? How can you possibly still be alive after that many orgasms? I don't know any woman who wouldn't have asked for a break by now.”

“It's because I'm not just any woman,” Regina purrs, fingers scratching Emma's scalp like she would a pet.

“You're fucking insatiable is what you are,” she mumbles against her skin, craning her neck to lick the underside of one breast, as she can never resist having those sinfully soft mounds into her mouth or rolling under her fingers whenever they happen to be near-by.

She wiggles ungracefully on the bed, going down Regina's body until she's facing one of her favorite place, and she sighs dreamily as she hoists up Regina's legs above her shoulders, grabbing her ass and planting one sloppy kiss on her mound.

“But that's okay. I can't ever get enough of you anyway.”

She starts maping the contours of Regina's sex, teasing her outer lips, bumping into her clit with the tip of her nose, spreading moisture all over her lower face (sloppy eating habits that she has no intention of changing). Regina starts to respond, physically and vocally to her ministrations, and she loves that so much about her, how responsive, how expressive she is, how she doesn't hold back anything in bed, any scream, any wicked fantasies, how she makes her feel like the best lover in the world, how she becomes hers, perfectly and completely.

“It's just –” Regina starts, her whimper breaking short, biting her lips between each word, “today was –”

“I know baby,” Emma says kindly, a twinge of guilt awakening in her stomach, because she does know everything Regina is going through – because of her, she can't help but feel, how she has to deal with everyone's petty shit now that Emma can't be bothered to do that (not that they would trust her anyway), how she gets frustrated and blames herself for not finding any means of breaking the Dark One's curse... so if Emma risks pulling a muscle in her tongue by helping her queen unload her frustrations, it seems like a small price to pay, and one she owes anyway.

She receives a sharp slap to the back of her skull and raises her head, frowning.

“Do not, under any circumstances, call me _baby_ , Miss Swan.”

“Dammit I thought I could slip this one through unnoticed.”

Regina scoffs. “Like that's ever going to happen.”

She lets out a particularly sharp gasp as Emma's finger finally enters her, shivering as if taken by a violent fever as the blonde's skilled index strokes her upper wall in a “come here” motion that is incredibly satisfying.

Her gasp becomes a guttural moan as Emma adds a second finger, then a third, and the blonde feels her lover's helpless hands tug painfully at her locks, her heels dig into her back in the hope to ground her.

“More,” she begs in a voice that could use some water, but Emma knows Regina will kill her if she stops now.

She starts pumping, harder, spreading her fingers, but Regina bucks her hips, impatient, needy, repeating her broken cry, “more, more,” until Emma adds her pinky, wincing at the way Regina suddenly tightens around her hand.

She lifts her head to meet wide-open, hungry brown eyes almost black with want.

“More, Emma,” Regina tells her forcefully, and she shivers.

“Wait, don't you have – I don't know some lube or –”

“I'm soaking wet, Emma, please I need it, please, more, just – more, please...”

“Fuck,” she grunts, closing her eyes in delight, listening to Regina's delirious ramblings, and slowly, carefully, she squeezes in her thumb too, gasping at how snug and warm Regina is around her fist, her forehead falling against the woman's hip, her lips moving to tell her to breathe deep, to relax, but she doesn't hear her own words, is only focused on that one incredible, frightening sensation of being so completely inside Regina, and then she's in, waiting until Regina's loud groans quiet down, until she's frantically asked to move, fuck, Emma, just move already, and she does, gently, god's name and unholy words falling from her lips in equal measures, and she looks up at Regina – she has to see her face for this, she has to – and she's breathtaking, so beautiful she seems bathed in a halo of light, until Emma realizes this light is real and comes from her, her magic, a magic that's not purple in this moment and Emma's heart stutter in her chest at the meaning behind it. She watches Regina, swept away by her magic, by Emma plunging so deep inside her, and she talks to her, can't stop talking, encouraging her, _"so fucking beautiful – god you're fucking beautiful, that's it baby_ (Regina doesn't deny her the nickname this time, too far gone to care), _come for me, come for me Regina",_ and she does, splendidly, like thunder and howling winds, raining on the sheets as Emma gently removes her hand, rubbing at the painfully engorged clit to draw out this wonderful moment, her hand drenched in Regina's waters – and then it stops, Regina's back arching off the bed one last time, her eyes rolling back in her head, absent to the world for a few minutes, enough for Emma to go fetch a glass of water.

 

She gently stirs Regina awake with butterfly kisses on her face until the woman scrunches up her nose and blinks wearily at her. She doesn't speak at first, just allow herself to be handled as Emma pulls her up a little, helping her to drink before settling her back against the pillows.

“Thank you,” Regina croaks, her eyes shining, and Emma can't tell if she's grateful for the water or for the ways she thoroughly used her body. She smiles, gathering Regina's boneless, exhausted form in her arms, tucking the dark head under her chin, caressing her back affectionately.

“Is your gluttony finally satisfied, your majesty?”

She waits until she thinks Regina has fallen asleep, but she finally hears an amused whisper as the queen presses herself snug against her side, “Just give me an hour or two.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated and treasured <3


	3. Greed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst in this one... what I want to happen in the underworld, with this one canon change where Robin didn't come with them.

There are no colors down the world of the living dead.

  
If there are, she doesn't see them.

 

  
The gray is a physical presence at their side, she inhales it at every breath, it goes deep and thick down her throat, sits still and heavy on her heart. It freezes her, limb by limb, thought by thought. Even Henry's hand in hers doesn't hold enough warmth any more, and when she speaks, her words shake and vanish into the air.

  
She's suffocating. And everytime Emma mentions the pirate they came here to save - _she_ came here to save, because everyone is here only out of loyalty and love for Emma, and Emma's here because of obsession and guilt and madness - evertime his name slips through her lips, it's another shot of gray into her veins, the needle sharp like Emma's green eyes.

  
Her selfishness has no bounds. While everyone's support for Emma is weightless and unconditionnal, hers isn't. She's not here out of any nobility, and her concern, and her care, and her love, bear the stain that turns good actions into sins.

  
She doesn't want this mission to succeed.

  
She doesn't want Emma's love to blossom for anyone but her.

 

  
She can hear the demons laugh at her in her sleep.

 

.

  
She has everything to be happy about. She shouldn't pursue anything more, she shouldn't desire the very woman who sacrificed herself for her happiness. It wasn't a promise or a declaration, she has to believe that, Emma taking on the darkness to save her, it was nothing but her pure, beautiful heart acting out of sheer heroic stupidity.

  
It wasn't a promise.

  
She ought to make herself be happy. She owes it to Emma, to all her suffering. There's a man waiting for her, soulmate designed by gods to shape her path into a less tortuous road, a man and a little boy she already loves like her own, and a little girl she's ready to embrace, daughter or niece, in whatever title she comes into her family - because she's sworn to herself, looking in the mirror of her childhood, that no child should ever have to suffer for the sins of their parent, that no one should ever be groomed by hatred and revenge.

  
There's a whole life waiting for her up above, happiness within her grasp, that she only has to pluck like the world's reddest, most ripe apple.

  
That is a gift too precious to refuse, but not the one she covets.

 

 .

  
"I thought you were asleep."

  
Emma's knuckles are white holding the door half open, like she can't decide whether or not she should leave Regina to her seclusion and insomnia. She's got that red leather jacket on top of her pajamas, that jacket she never seems to take off here. Her eyes are red too, but not out of any crying, Regina knows. Emma's eyes are always red, like someone who's seen too much light in too little time, sensitive to anything that isn't twilight or darkness. Even the moon seems to gleam too bright for her.

  
"I don't sleep much here. You can stay if you want."

  
She's almost sure Emma is going to leave, and she's surprised to feel her warmth as she sits down next to her on the mansion's patio. Since the Underworld looks like a warped version of their Storybrooke, Regina has decided she had every right to take what was hers back, namely her home, and there was no one to stop them. They all sleep here, when they're not stumbling on their wild goose chase, neither of them comfortable with being separated in this strange non-world.

  
"They're a bitch to drown out, aren't they?"

  
"I beg your pardon?"

  
"The voices."

  
Emma's fingers are tugging on her bottom lip, nails parching the skin ever so slightly, and Regina has to clamp her hands together not to reach out and make her stop.

  
"It's been a fucking concerto ever since we got here."

 

Regina tightens the coat she slipped on over her nightgown, hands clutching tight at the collar, voice deceptively smooth.

 

"Anything you want to talk about?"

 

"Yeah, well. Actually, I was hoping you might have something to say."

 

The breath squeezes out of her throat.

 

"Me," she deadpans, looking straight ahead at the trees to avoid Emma's seaching look.

 

"You've been really quiet lately. Even toned down the mighty sarcasm. But I know you hear them to. You talk in your sleep sometimes. When you do sleep. Which happens maybe 3 hours every two days. You plan to do something about that by the way before you join our lovely neighbours here?"

 

"This is why I thought it was a terrible idea to share a room," Regina grits between her teeth, her jaw kneading hard.

 

"Henry wanted us both here. The kid's dealing with enough already, it's -"

 

"Something you should have thought about before you dragged us all here!" She finally explodes, immediately biting her tongue, turning her head to the side, far away from Emma, Emma's hurt, Emma's guilt, Emma's sorrow, every larger than life emotions that pour out of her and that she wants to kiss away like you kiss someone's tears - tenderly, one by one.

 

"Why are you here, Regina?"

 

It's so low she even doubts she heard it until Emma goes on.

 

"You hate Hook. You think this mission's doomed and irrelevant. Why did you agree to come?"

 

"I told you, I'm doing this for you."

 

She keeps her tone level and matter-of-factly, the politician surfacing, evading personal questions and breaches of intimacy.

 

"What are you doing for me? What is this?"

 

There's urgency in Emma's tone, in the way she grips her arm now, in the hand she delicately uses to bring her back to her, eyes deep into her too-knowing, yet disbelieving stare.

 

"Why, Regina?"

 

She stays mute, long enough for her heart to start beating again.

 

"This is not something you want me to say. Not here, not now."

 

She tears herself away from Emma's hands and eyes, stands up, brushing nonexistent dirt off her coat.

 

"Goodnight Miss Swan."

 

Something so warm it burns wraps around her ankle as she makes a move to leave. She pauses and the hand tightens, vibrating in fear and excitement.

 

"I don't understand. You have Robin. You have - you have your happy ending, you have everything, you -"

 

"I don't have you."

 

She doesn't look, doesn't bow her head, her eyes are shut tight, thunderbolts flashing behind her eyelids, and her heart is about to soar up her mouth, beating loud behind her every word.

 

"I don't have you, Emma, I don't have _you_."

 

The hand is caressing her calve, now, thumb kneading soothingly, going up to her knee, down, up again, and Emma's lips, hotter than hell, press against the underside of her calve.

 

"Don't go."

 

"Emma..."

 

"I'm fucking cold, you know? I can't breathe here. I can't."

 

She feels her knees give in just as Emma gets up, gathering her in her arms, the leather biting cold against her cheek first, then heating up quickly as she rests her head on Emma's shoulder.  
Emma's hands slide down the front of her coat, find the opening, unfasten her belt, plunging inside, smoothing down her belly, curving over her breasts. She shudders.

 

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I had to come here. I don't know why, but I had. And now... I don't know what I want. What do I want, Regina?"

 

Emma's lips find her forehead, the kiss is wet, too wet, and Regina thinks it's the first time Emma cries since the pirate's death.

There's no use for thinking, for doing the right thing and for not being stupid.

There's no use not to sin anymore, so she takes a step back, enough to look up into Emma's terribly lost eyes, and grabs her by the collar of her jacket, bringing her close enough to count every tear on her lashes.

 

"I want you."

 

And somehow, her knowing is enough for the both of them, and Emma sighs as if a great weight has been lifted off her shoulders, smiling with need and gratitude, her hands gripping Regina's hips possessively.

 

"I'm going to fuck you now against the walls of your study if that's okay."

 

She brings her hand to Emma's face, gathering wetness on her fingers, stroking the blush away, smiling, finally.

 

"I would expect nothing else from you, Miss Swan."

 

.

 

  
They end up having sex on the rug in front of the hearth, Regina quickly lighting it with a fireball before Emma starts peeling her clothes off of her with a deference she didn't know the Savior possessed. The flames hold nothing to the warmth of their skins however, to the feel of Emma's heat around her tongue, of Emma's fingers burning deep within her, of her eyes blazing through her orgasm, her mouth calling for her in fright until she quiets her with her lips, soothes her with her hands. Emma weeps a lot that night, weeps for everything she did not have time to grieve, for the darkness still swirling inside her swallowing all fire, for her mistakes, for her nightmares. She lets go in Regina's arms, falling asleep like a child, mouth open over her breast, one hand still buried between her legs, her curls wild like liquid light.

  
Regina sees the world again.

 

  
Her greed has the color of green eyes.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated and treasured <3


	4. Sloth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swan Mills Family sweetness - here comes the horse nerd part.

There's something almost exciting, terribly new in a day without strain, efforts or responsibilities. She's never just sat there in front of her bed without purpose, without the nagging thought of chores to do and urging matters to attend to.

It's disconcerting at first, and she had a moment of anxious restlessness where Emma almost had to physically pin her down to stop her from going to do last night's dishes, but now, it's... nice.

This might be due to Emma's fingers kneading her scalp, flowing through her hair, and Henry very intently focusing on braiding the left side of her head, carefully following Emma's instructions. She would be purring if not for the indignity of it.

She still has a hard time believing she's been convinced to build a pillow fort and conjure the television up to her bedroom. Not to mention she's allowed her son and the Savior to have pancakes in her bed. In her bed. She still doesn't know what madness has possessed her. But an enduring head massage is remarkably effective to quiet her nerves about crumbs left between the sheets.

 

"Jesus, this movie is such a little girl's wet dream."

 

Regina lets out a disgruntled groan, blearily opening her eyes again.

 

"First of all, Miss Swan, little girls don't have wet dreams..."

 

"Yeah, right."

 

"Secondly, I would appreciate if you refrained from using unsuitable terms for minors while Henry's in the room."

 

"Er, Mom..."

 

"No, Henry, now is not the time to remind me that you're a teenage boy and quite grown-up, thank  
you."

 

He laughs and Emma whines.

 

"Come on, Regina, it's all horses and racing and freaking ribbons! I can't believe you're making me watch this."

 

"It stars Elizabeth Taylor, Miss Swan, I thought that would be sufficient to catch your interest."

 

"I'm definitely not into twelve year-old girls, thank you very much."

 

"Guys, you're ruining the movie," Henry sighs, resting is head on top of his brunette mother's, the braid now completed, slightly sagging but it's not bad for a first-time braider, Emma has assured him quietly. "Velvet's about to have her hair cut, it's an important scene!"

 

"Ugh, don't tell me you're a horse nerd too, kid."

 

"Miss Swan, I am not a horse nerd!"

 

"You are, Mom," Henry says with an affectionate chuckle and a quick peck to the top of her head. "And yeah, I like that movie. We used to watch it every Christmas."

 

"God, the torture this kid's been put through..."

 

"He just said he enjoys the movie, Miss Swan, now please do shut up and watch."

 

It doesn't take long after that for Emma to start cheering along with Henry while Velvet rides The Pie during the big race, Regina smirking and drumming her fingers in rhythm with the hooves on her thigh. By the end of the movie, Emma and Henry high five each other and the blonde starts rambling about how they need to buy a horse so Regina can wear fancy jockey outfits and kick everyone's ass at the races. Regina, for her part, is nervously looking out of the window, where howling and sickening laughters can be heard from time to time, her fingers now pounding on her thigh.

 

"Do you really think they can handle those blood-sucking hyenas on their own?"

 

Emma tugs gently at her braid in reproach.

 

"They have it handled, okay? You promised not to worry about it. Today's Regina-no-worry day. You've literally been chewed and spat out by the last monster, I think those cracked ribs deserve a bit more rest."

 

"Emma, I've healed it -"

 

"Hush, shhh, don't speak, Henry, quick, put the Star War movie in before she wakes up!"

 

"I _am_ awake."

 

Henry rolls off the bed with a groan of inhuman effort and crawls on all fours to the pile of DVDs that have been carefully selected this morning by our three authorities, while Emma covers Regina's eyes in earnest, pressing her cheek against her temple.

 

“Nope, it's night, see, you have to rest at night, it's the law.”

 

“Must you be so childish?”

 

“Well, I have to compensate for our son's boring maturity.”

 

“Hey!” Henry calls off lazily as he slips the disc in.

 

“Serves you right for that time you dared call me off on my linguistic inventions.”

 

“Well, 'bear-clawed' is not a verb, Emma.”

 

“And supercalifragilisticexpialidocious isn't even a word, yet that doesn't stop you from knowing the song by heart, now, does it?”

 

“Emma, please stop antagonizing our son and kindly remove your hands from my eyes.”

 

“Oh, sorry,” she says with a sheepish grimace. “I forgot.”

 

 

.

 

 

It's late when they finally put and end to the movie marathon, having gone through most of the pile – dozing off to The Night of The Hunter, Emma's choice and favorite movie as a child, but not powerful enough this time to keep them awake after hours of binge-watching.

After Henry is shooed away to his room, and the food leftovers have been taken care of by Emma (that means essentially that she has pushed them to the corner of the room to deal with later), they settle on the bed, Emma yawning with heavy eyes, Regina still casting fleeting glances out the window despite the curtains, her lips tight. Emma notices, and smirks wickedly.

 

“You're really not respecting your part of the deal, Madame Mayor.”

 

She starts nuzzling Regina's neck, tickling her sensitive throat with her lips until the woman lets out a throaty chuckle.

 

“Am I grounded, Miss Swan?”

 

There's a teasing light in Regina's eyes, vivacious and knowing, and Emma moves on to nibble on her earlobe, pensive.

 

“I think your punishment should be much more severe than that.”

 

She stops and screws up her face, ignoring Regina's surprised then slightly concerned look as she stays like this for a few seconds, but then Regina's expression morphs into shock as silky white ropes tighten around her wrists and ankles, tying her spreadeagle to the bed.

 

“I'm getting better at this, aren't I?”

 

“Hm. I know where your newfound interest in learning magic with me comes from now. But doesn't your way of punishment defeats the purpose of me not doing anything and having a quiet day to rest?”

 

“I can guarantee,” Emma promises as she begins to leave a trail of kisses down Regina's front, opening the buttons of her silken pajama top along the way, “that you are not going to lift a single finger. As for the rest, well...”

 

She pulls down Regina's pants, rough and quick, halting at the knees, and buries her face in  
Regina's legs, inhaling loudly while her nails leave red welts on the cheeks of that perfect round ass. Regina sucks in a breath, arching off the bed.

 

“This is definitely not gonna be quiet. You might want to soundproof the room.”

 

 

.

 

 

Emma makes good on her promise that night of doing all the work. She also makes sure of drawing every ragged breath and wanton moans out of Regina's mouth, playing her body like a flute, skilled fingers relentless and always bolder, bringing her lovely instrument to the breaking point. And perhaps, when Regina finally falls asleep, secure and naked in Emma's arms, still shaking from climbing so high over and over again, she's not exactly rested, but she's utterly spent, her skin humming with lazy satisfaction, her thighs so slick, her body marked by teeth and nails, Emma's hand possessive on her breast, and when she does sleep, the sea in her heart is peaceful at last, the smile on her lips is easy and happy.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated and treasured <3


	5. Wrath

She's seen Regina angry.

She's seen the mad glint of rage and psychotic hunger in the Evil Queen's eye.

But, the thought lazily comes to her as she lies on the floor of Arthur's highly guarded cell, the iron choker strangling her throat and sucking magic and life out of her, she's never seen her in her Wrath. Her, Regina, the Queen, the dark sorceress, the mother, the friend – the sum of all her parts, mighty and mismatched yet beautifully assembled. Maybe it's the fever sliding a veil of wonder over her eyes as she watches her own personal savior stride forward into the dungeons, guards flying everywhere when they dare step foot on her path, locks breaking and doors slamming open, maybe she's dying and hallucinating as Regina's figure seems to grow impossibly large and tall, overwhelming all her senses and filling the last piece of the world she's hanging on to, a blinding light of indefinable color surrounding her, her voice so strong, so loud, it blasts into nothingness the enchanted collar around her neck, physically pushes back the pain like a giant fist square to the face, and Emma smiles as fingertips, so soft and fragile for such a formidable being, brush against her lips, as her name is implored with all the urgency of Wrath crumbling into Love.

“I didn't know you were a giant woman,” she thinks she says to blurred, mesmerizing eyes, that stunned and slightly dumb smile still on her face.

 

.  
.  
.

 

“You're terrifying when you're angry, do you know that?”

Her whisper is crushed between bodies crashing against each other, swallowed by Regina's imperious teeth, and for a few seconds she just let herself be rocked to the rhythm of the other woman's hips, hard and fast and rough, holding her breath as her brain tries to catch up with her sensations.

“What,” Regina rasps, hands molding Emma's breasts into an overheated, reddened play dough, and the rest of her body feels just as malleable, just as ready to be shaped by her, to be made for her, opening up to receive everything she has to give, all the turmoil, all the fear, all the love and all the frustration that have been building ever since she carried Emma away from her cell, high on magic and rage, ever since she broke her free of her chains, charred her darkness to a crisp with the fire in her own soul. They've both been waiting too long for this, wanting and needing and aching and finally breaking, falling into each other as soon as they came back to Storybrooke, right after the first step into Regina's mansion, everything that could have been lost suddenly dawning on them, making it impossible not to eat each other whole right this instant.

“When you came to rescue me,” she says, panting, biting her lips, Regina's. “I still have dreams about it. About your eyes. About the light. How you seemed to become everything there was in the world.”

She whines, a frail, high-pitched noise as Regina's fingers flick her clit, then start rubbing it gently, slow, circular, tantalizing motions that make her clench her thighs again and again in the hope for more. She lifts her eyes to meet Regina's, and sinks into their dark sky.

“Very much like now,” she manages to breathe out before Regina enters two fingers painfully fast in her cunt, her pace mad, demanding, bringing Emma to writhing and tears in a matter of minutes, her other hand grabbing her ass for better leverage, her own hips helping her fingers along for more violent thrusts, her mouth feasting on every bit of flesh she can find – Emma feels herself being claimed in a way she's never been before, not a single part of her being left out, she's being made to belong, a happy, broken sob churning in her throat.

“Am I hurting you,” Regina asks in a toneless gasp, breathing hard, pumping hard, but softly nuzzling her nose against Emma's, and the blonde nods frantically, greedily, “yes, yes but it's so good, it's so fucking good, don't, please don't stop –”

“I can't stop,” Regina moans, entering a third finger, thumbing Emma's clit with her hand, and she comes with a shocked cry, hips rising from the bed, fingers gripping at the sheets – she's not given time to recover. “Turn around,” she hears low in her ear, and she does, clumsily, helped with a light smack to the butt, another one, firm, that makes her groan, clit pulsing in need, and then Regina's nails are scratching down her back, mean and teasing, leaving throbbing welts on their wake, pausing right over her ass, digging deep where two dimples are, winking at Regina, taunting her to take more, and she does, all night long, she makes her Savior come and come again, until she's drowning in her juices and her sweat and her ecstatic tears, rolling in a state of semi-consciousness into Regina's arms, feeling them closing in, strong, soft, secure, holding her like a cradle, she hears Regina's entranced lullaby hummed into her hair, “mine, mine, you're mine,” and with each iteration patching up the holes of her heart, Emma can only agree, her relief undisputed, falling asleep next to the person she can finally call home.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated and treasured <3


	6. Envy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, it's a bit kinky at the end, with LOTS of unresolved mommy issues.

When Emma looks at her there are things swirling deep in green waters that Regina fails to understand. It's taken her a while to notice, the acute watchfulness, the veiled intensity, she took it as Emma being afraid at first, either anticipating a retractation on Regina's part or waiting for her to become too much, for Emma can endure neither withdrawal nor smothering. But it isn't fear she catches flashing like the wind through Emma's eyes, though she knows it's an emotion just as raw, just as primitive.

And yet, life goes on, and still they keep falling in home with each other, one step closer at every new turn. Falling in home and not in love, because they've been in love for longer than they're comfortable admitting, and the true discovery they had to make was how to build that love on each other's shoulders, how to shelter it in the other's heart. How to live together, quite simply, with no more grand gesture of sacrifice or festering wounds. Little by little, smile by smile, they've breached the gap made by several years of denial and missed chances and tricks of fate. Settling in has been so smooth and easy, Regina cannot honestly tell when Emma has eventually moved in with them, whether or not it happened after their first I love you, when did it go from sharing a house to sharing a bed and having one home for two (for three) instead of one home divided in two.

The first kiss, however, she remembers the day, the hour, the minute, she could tell you the shade of Emma's lipstick, the bitter yet soothing taste of her tears as they clutched at each other like drowned people do, astonished to be alive, their skins still bearing the smell of brimstone and the scalds of Hell.

That first kiss had been a world opening, and the door has never closed since.

 

.

 

The toddler burbles and twitters at her happily, still speaking the thrill language of birds and mermaids he will come to lose as the first word is shaped in his mouth. Young Neal's eyes are Henry's likeness, to the point she could almost pretend it's her own baby squirming in her lap once again, earnestly curling his fists in her locks as he seriously narrates something only he can understand. He's late to speak as he was late to walk, but he's a slow, awkward child, has always been, and they're not worried. He's a slow and awkward child, yet embolded by her presence, as that had been the case since the first meeting, his little mouth hanging open, completely enthralled. The spell of silence and stillness had lasted for a few minutes, then he'd proceeded to grab her thumb with his little fingers, stick it into his mouth, and munch on cheerfully, and he never got shy around her again.

“Ma,” he says suddenly, looking over her shoulder and clapping his hands. “Ma.”

She turns her head, but she's felt the weight of her stare right before young Neal had spoken, how it fell, soothing and solid on her shoulders, like a well-worn coat, how it feels now, pressing and longing as Emma goes from Regina's face to her brother's squealish greetings, and the woman breaks into a smile, too quickly, her eyes safe again, though perhaps a bit cold.

“Hey buddy,” she coos, lifting him in her arms and making him spin around the room, laughing along with his giggles, winking at Regina's indulgent stare as she falls back on the couch, the boy held to her chest in a bear-like hug.

“Ma!” he shouts, proudly, and Emma winces.

“I take it by your face that Snow still isn't taking well that his first word wasn't 'mom'?”

“You can say that. She looked pratically murderous at dinner the other day. Now we just have to wait for her to figure out that his vocabulary extends to your name as well and hope she doesn't break any windows.”

“Let's avoid it,” Regina says quickly with a look of fear that is ill-suited on the face of an Evil Queen, all reformed that she is, speaking about her traditionally unthreatening arch nemesis (that is, for those who've never faced the mother hen with her feathers ruffled). “Besides, it's really a stretch to say that's actually my name.”

“I think someone's doesn't like to be called 'Nana'”, Emma stage-whispers at the child while Regina rolls her eyes.

The boy turns to her with pouting lips and narrowed eyes, looking personally affronted by her lack of enthusiasm at the carefully elected nickname, but then he's jumping from Emma's arms to her own, locking his small arms around her neck, his temple bumping against her jaw, his voice firm and stubborn when he babbles: “Nana.”

She sighs and laughs, gently rubbing his back over his striped sweater, casting a sideway glance at Emma, looking for complicity and shared amusement. Instead, she finds a strange, forlorn expression on her lover's face, and a tense smile.

“You're so good with him.”

 

 

The anxious void is back in Emma's eyes again, and Regina starts to understand more than she'd like to.

 

.

 

She eventually finds the courage to address the issue after she catches Emma looking at her and Henry as if in mourning, one late evening where Henry's head drops to her shoulder as he dozes off during family movie night, exhausted by his last examination, and her hand naturally comes up to scratch his head, a familiar gesture he loved so much as a young child.

Emma's eyes are so gaunt, so hungry, staring at her hand, Regina can feel her ache seeping from Emma's heart to her finger bones. This has to stop.

“Henry? Sweetheart, I think you should go to bed, you're hurting your neck sleeping like that. We can watch the rest tomorrow, okay? Dr. Lazarus will still be here tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Henry yawns loudly without covering his mouth, which earns him a scowl. “Sorry, Mom. Don't take this as an opportunity to do the nasty, okay? I may be listening to loud music but I still got my full hearing thank you.”

“Now, when did you become such a sassy young man,” Regina teases, poking him in the ribs with her index.

“The real question is why would a human teenager still use 'doing the nasty' as an actual reference for sex. Kid, you realize that you sound older than your mother when you say that, right? And she's like, way old.”

Emma, sounding very much like her normal self with no hints of the ravenous girl from a minute ago, sits smugly in her comfy chair, too far away for a poke in the ribs, and gets a magical flick to the head instead.

“You can be at ease, Henry, your mother isn't getting any tonight, she knows better than to reference my age in public.”

“Our son is hardly public material, Regina.”

“To hear him, we force him to be our unwilling audience too often.”

“Okay, we reached the banter foreplay part, that is my cue to leave.”

Henry gets up from the couch, bending exaggeratedly in half to kiss his mother's cheek (he loves to remind her in any situation how much he's grown and how very little she is in comparison), waving at Emma who gives him back the two-finger salute that's apparently their thing now, and dragging his feet to the stairs, disappearing on the top floor with an absent-minded: “Goodnight, Moms!”

The door of his room clicks behind him, and Regina watches Emma, the TV screen strobing lights across their faces.

“I believe it is now our cue to go to bed, Miss Swan,” she smirks lazily, satisfied to notice that she can still make the woman shiver with a few chosen words.

 

.

 

They keep their promise to Henry and keep it at a hushed volume that night, a quick, clumsy fondling in the dark with too much laughter and little orgasm, but the heady, giddy pleasure of their graceless coupling leaves them grinning in each other's arms, fingers stroking lazily from elbow to shoulder, breaths loud but slow. Enfolded in Emma's warmth and love and scent, Regina feels bold enough to ask the question that has burned her lips ever since that day with little Neal.

 

“Do you want another child?”

 

There's a pause, a blink of disbelief, and Emma goes so stiff and tense under her she feels like her lover's been turned into wood. She breathes deep through her nose, discomfort gnawing at her insides.

 

“What?”

 

Emma's voice is blank, an empty field of untraceable clues.

 

“I was just wondering – if it was something you'd like to have. Being pregnant again. Rising a child from birth. That, maybe –”

 

“I'm fine with how we are,” Emma cuts her, quickly (too quickly?). “Aren't you?”

 

Regina blinks, then rolls over in Emma's arms to face her, bracing herself on the bed on either side of the blonde's shoulders.

 

“Of course. I'm happier than I've ever been. I desire nothing else.”

 

Emma swallows, hard, reaches to brush back a rebellious strand of black hair, her voice a hoarse whisper.

 

“Are you sure you don't want another baby?”

 

There seems to be a world of hurt behind this question – haunted words bouncing off the walls of haunted eyes, a three-year-old girl waiting on the side of the road, a cardboard box at her feet.

She makes sure Emma feels the weight of truth when she stares deep into her eyes and says: “No, Emma. I have everything I need with you and Henry. And you can include the two idiots and their offspring in my good days.”

There's the tinest grin on Emma's face to match her own, a shy flutter of hope from a terrified butterfly.

“So... why did you ask me that?”

She sighs, lowering herself to rest her head on Emma's shoulder, nose facing her throat, eyes watching intently the little notch at the base of it.

“I've seen you watching me – when I'm with Henry, or with your brother – whenever I interact with children. I – there's something in your gaze. As if... you're hungry. Wanting. I thought maybe it was because – because you didn't get to raise Henry, and I...”

She feels her throat bumps up and down in nervousness, her arms closing tight around Emma's waist, cheek pressing into shoulder, heart bursting with misplaced guilt and compassion.

“It's not that.”

Emma's hand is running over her back, quieting her.

“I'm not jealous of you.”

Regina waits, and waits, until she feels stretched thin by worry and ignorance, until, finally, Emma says, her voice small, her voice young and sheepish like a chastened child's:

 

 

“I envy them.”

 

.

 

The next morning, Emma acts cheerful and oblivious as if the conversation has never happened. Regina is lost in profund musings for the rest of the day. About Emma's lack of security in her childhood. About Emma's complicated relationship with maternal care and motherly concern. About that orphan girl, the one from the side of the road, the one from Neverland, peering through the curtains of Emma's soul from time to time. About a fear that has no remedy but love and patience.

She sends Henry off to his grandparents that night.

He gives her a knowing glare, none to happy to be dismissed, and negociates a night at the movies with Kovu instead, that she grants without too much fight, as long as he's back to the Charmings' loft before midnight.

When Emma comes home from work before dinner, she's welcomed by Regina in her robe, her skin still warm and scented from her bath, her face nude and her hair tousled, her feet bare and her body on fire, lips finding lips like a source in the desert.

“Make love to me, Emma,” she hums in her neck, but she's the one making love to her, creating it in roiling vortex of heat on every surface of her skin, pouring it from her mouth to Emma's spread open wetness, thrusting it with brazen fingers inside her famished cunt, and Regina sees it exploding in her lover's eyes, all sparkling cinders and colored hurricane. Only then does she unfasten the belt of her robe, sits back on her heels, and brings Emma to her, guides her mouth to her breast, and let her suck, and suck, voicing her tenderness and passion in low murmurs, brushing her hair with her fingers and Emma sucks and gropes and sobs around her teat, rasping incoherent apologies. Regina shushes her, and rocks her gently, kissing the top of her head, calling her _good girl_ , saying how proud of her she is, how much she loves her, and Emma is a wreck, all tears and snot when she finally pulls away, allowing Regina to grab a tissue on the nightstand and wipe gently the reddened nose.

They lie back on the bed, Emma's head on Regina's stomach, her body curled in the foetal position, long legs tangled between slick and toned ones, her breathing loud and still wrecked with the occasional sob.

“Thank you,” Regina hears, and she tenderly cups the back of Emma's head, closes her eyes.

“Go to sleep, Emma. You're safe with me.”

 

And she is. And they are. And a page of Emma's childhood seals shut with a relieved sigh.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated and treasured <3


	7. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would have thought? The first series I've ever finished. Inspiration is as fickle as the Breton weather, but hopefully something good came out of it. Enjoy!

She rolls over in their bed, sinking into the light dip made by Regina's body, into the warmth soaking the sheets, groaning against the early sunlight filtering through the blinds and mumbling that morning should fuck off and come back again at a decent hour.

 

“ Graceful and eloquent as always, Miss Swan.”

 

Regina greets her with a press of her lips to the bridge of her nose, the kiss dainty and slow, and when Emma doesn't react, she starts to lick the tip of the nose scrunching up under the attack, causing Emma to whine and pout.

 

“ R'gina, don't make me tell you to fuck off too.”

 

“ Empty threats, Sheriff. You wouldn't dare insult a queen.”

 

Emma inwardly rolls her eyes. Playful Regina is usually someone she loves to meet between the sheets, but the early morning combined with last night's heavy dinner and too much wine still swirling uncomfortably on her stomach make her... grouchy. However, as she opens her eyes, blinking and squinting like an owl, and is met with the always arousing sight of Regina biting her lower lip, her mood quickly changes for the better, a rather stupid but pleasant idea blooming in her mind.

 

Holding back a smirk, she sneaks her arms around Regina's waist, and in one, swift yet clumsy gesture, she rolls them over, pinning the queen to the bed, grinning as she squirms uselessly under her, eyes promising murder, an adorable flush creeping on her cheeks that titillates Emma’s funny bone (and other parts that have nothing to do with bones but are sure intended for  _ fun _ ).

 

“ Oh yeah,” Emma laughs, and Regina glares. “I'm scared out of my wits, Your Majesty. Is the plan to kill me with cuteness? Because it's working.”

 

“ Emma,” Regina begins in that no-nonsense tone that would have worked wonders on first-graders, “will you stop acting like the human incarnation of a golden retriever and  _ move out of my way _ .”

 

“ It's all in the nose,” she goes on as if she hadn't been interrupted, “and the way you scrunch it up whenever you're pissed at me. Or maybe it's that annoyed wrinkle on your forehead whenever I make a mess. Or it could be the way you're totally helpless against my super awesome Savior strength.” She beams, smug, and Regina snorts.

 

“ Your so-called 'super awesome strength' is merely the result of an insane amount of Just Dance practice and inflated ego. I could take you anytime,  _ Sheriff _ .”

 

Emma wiggles her eyebrows at the innuendo, then suddenly bends down to whisper into Regina's ear, taking on her deepest, most ridiculous ominous voice: “And then, as the delightfully naked and helpless beauty was trapped under the muscular body of the beast, it swooped on her neck, its fangs bared and ready to bite!”

 

She lets out what she hopes resembles a feral snarl, and gracelessly assaults Regina's neck with her mouth, nibbling and licking until she draws a string of incensed squeals and giggles from the queen, along with an instinctual reaction she hasn't planned on.

 

“ Ow!” She yelps, massaging her crotch with one hand and pushing away Regina's knee with the other. “You didn't have to go for the kill, lady, this happens to be a body part I'm rather fond of!”

 

“ Something to think about next time you try to go trash novel on me,” Regina says, then frowns as Emma makes sure to give her the most pitiful look she can muster, and she gently puts her hand above the blonde's, tenderly cupping her mound as well.

 

“ Did I really hurt you?”

 

Emma smiles, always endeared by Regina's care, even in the middle of their fights, whether or not they're for play (or foreplay, a most interesting category), and she pecks the worried queen on the nose.

 

“ Nah. I'm as tough as I look. It's lucky I don't have an  _ even more _ sensitive area down there.”

 

“ Oh, it's plenty sensitive,” Regina corrects her, as she slowly takes Emma's hand away, replacing it with her own fingers. She brushes against her folds, her fingertips light and teasing.

 

Emma shudders, eyes closed, tempted to carry on with Regina's offer, to press hard down on that eager palm, but her brain decides to be responsible for once and she stops Regina's hand.

 

“ I would love too, even if I should be a bit wary of letting you anywhere near my vagina after your impressive demonstration of groin kicking, but today's the day, remember? There's someone waiting for you.”

 

She studies her carefully; to be able to read Regina’s eyes has always been a necessary requirement for having any kind of relationship, because she won't tell, and it has become even more crucial after the accident. Emma sees the slow realization, the mixture of fear and excitement, she holds her eyes in silence until she's sure happiness is winning over, and then asks quietly:

 

“ Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?”

 

Regina pauses and pretends to think about it, humoring her like she does every time since she’s started her training, and even though her answer is always the same, she’ll always ask.

 

“ I prefer not. It's something I need to start alone. But you and Henry can come join us later?”

 

The surprised smile spreads, slow and bright, as Regina's tentative eyes meet her own.

 

“ Sure. We'd like that.”

 

Regina smiles back, mirror of her trust, and they stay like this just a moment longer, Regina grazing Emma's belly with the back of her hand, Emma running her fingers over her face, granting one final touch for her lips, heavy like the promise of a kiss.

 

“ In the meantime,” she says with a voice that has dropped considerably lower, “We should go downstairs and have a breakfast that would make an entire kingdom jealous. Come on, Your Majesty, the pancakes are calling!”

 

.

.

.

 

The morning routine runs and clicks like a well-oiled clock, Emma and Henry being the hands steering around their center of gravity, Regina. Emma gently burns the pancakes while swinging her hips to Buddy Holly, Henry butters Regina's toasts while she frowns over the latest community project about an amusement park for dogs (with  _ rollercoasters _ ), trying to decide whether it's a joke or yet another drop of the city's IQ.

 

It's not until they're all ready to leave the house and start the day that Regina's nervosity suddenly flares up in the crispation of her fingers while she fails at buttoning her coat again, and again, and again. Emma walks to her and with that attitude of helpful-but-not-obnoxious that she has perfected these last months, she asks casually, “hey, want some help with that?” and takes over when Regina lowers her hand, and lets her. It's been awhile since Emma has had to actually step in to help with the dressing up part.

 

“ You're gonna do great, you know.”

 

“ Please, Miss Swan, enough with the coddling, I'm going to be late.”

 

“ Oh, you mean you'll be only 5 minutes early instead of 15?”

 

They smile at each other, so used to the roles that let them be themselves, and Regina's hand reaches for Emma's.

 

“ I can do it.”

 

Emma nods and lowers her head to nuzzle Regina's temple.

 

“ Duh. You're Regina Mills, Her Majesty, Mayor extraordinaire, Amazing wife and mother, Powerful sorceress, and basically a Chef in the kitchen. Of course you can do anything.”

 

Regina chuckles, closing her eyes and whispering teasingly in Emma's ear: “You forgot to mention my fine skills in bed.”

 

“ Those I keep to myself, I don't want anyone to steal you away.”

 

There's a kiss, meant to be quick, but lingering, heating, and when Regina pulls back, she's breathing hard, eyes all black, smile confident.

 

“ See you tonight, Sheriff.”

 

“ I'll be there.”

 

.

.

.

 

Marco is beaming when she arrives at the stables with Henry a little before six that evening. He's been helping around a lot lately, even after the last enhancement was officially finished, he found excuses to linger, developing a strange and unexpected bond of care and mutual respect with Regina. He nods to them, shaking Henry's hand and greeting Emma with a clap on the shoulder.

 

“ They're beautiful. Come and see.”

 

He takes them to the riding ring where they can hear the sounds of hooves swallowing the ground at great speed even before they reach it.

The sight awaiting them is, indeed, beautiful.

 

“ They've been practicing all day,” Marco informs them quietly. “They've done a marvelous job together. Nemo was even able to trot on his own a little. Now he wanted to see Regina jump.”

 

Emma doesn't speak.

 

She stares at Regina as she whirls pass them on the back of a thin and graceful horse that is but a blast of dark wind. Regina's short braid has come undone, strands of hair whipping her open mouth. She works as one with her mount, her seat perfectly balanced, her one arm relaxed, her hand gentle around the reins she's left loose..

 

She hears Regina laughs on her second turn, and the little boy watching on the other side holding his stump close to his chest laughs along.

 

It takes Henry elbowing her gently in the ribs and handing her a tissue to realize she's crying.

 

“ You should wipe this away before Mom sees it. You two start acting gross when you get sentimental.”

 

She bubbles a wet laugh, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, her arm closing around Henry's shoulders and bringing him close to her chest.

 

“ Look at your Mom, kid. She's awesome.”

 

“ She's always awesome,” he answers with the wisdom of someone who's lived with, and has loved, and has been loved by Regina for fifteen years.

 

They keep watching as Regina slows down her horse to a trot, letting him catch his breath before practicing a few jumps and turns, occasionally commenting what she’s doing to a captivated Nemo, directing her horse with nothing but her voice. They don't fail a single jump.

 

.

.

.

 

“—I think it'll be more meaningful for the children to learn along with their mounts, like I did with Juniper. Nemo seemed to connect well with his pony right from the beginning. You know, the hardest part was actually to get his father to let go. But the boy handled himself so well. I think he was looking forward to prove it to his father.”

 

“It?” Emma interrupts gently Regina’s impassioned speech about her very new and very first student, her heart squeezing with affection at the way Regina tilts her head to the side and gives her a luminous, albeit indulgent smile.

 

“That he can do things his way if he's given the chance to try. No need for restraint or fear.”

 

Emma gently cups the back of Regina’s neck to bring their mouths together in a warm kiss, allowing herself to be rolled on her back onto the pillows while Regina settles over her, capturing her thighs between her own, the bed squeaking slightly at their combined weight.

 

“You're gonna make a wonderful teacher,” Emma breathes against her lips. “These kids will be so lucky to have you.”

 

“You really believe I can do this?” Regina asks in one of her, thankfully, increasingly rare moments of doubt and self-loathing, and Emma nods eagerly.

 

“Yeah. And not just because you know first-hand what it feels like to have to prove yourself every day, but because you've always been someone to defy all odds. And you're gonna show them how.”

 

Regina’s smile shivers like a sob, and she shuts her eyes against the wetness suddenly pooling there, allowing Emma to wipe it away with a brush of her lips against her eyelids.

 

“You know, Miss Swan, for someone who likes to pretend they’re emotionally obtuse, you can be surprisingly articulate at times.”

 

“So many talents, so little time to brag.”

 

They laugh together, noses brushing and hands touching and bodies shifting in the bed until they’re both on their sides, facing each other, legs still entwined.

 

“So,” Emma asks after a while of being content just to look at each other. “This is it, then? What you want to do.”

 

Regina nods carefully, her eyes shining.

 

“I’ll still be a consultant for the Mayor's office, give Mal time to get settled, but then… yes. I want to help. I want to make a difference for children with disabilities, however I can. I want to help them trust themselves again, trust their bodies and their minds.”

 

Emma gives her that proud smile—the one she knows Regina used to find patronizing until Emma could prove the love and admiration it showed for the woman who’d crawled her way back to her inner goodness in the most excruciating journey.

 

“You’re gonna miss bossing people around  _ so much _ .”

 

“Do you really think as a teacher I won’t get the chance to boss people around? Besides. I still need to monitor Mal on her people and real-world skills.”

 

She gives Emma a startled look when a loud snort slips past her lips.

 

“What?”

 

“The thought of you monitoring anyone on their people skills... “

 

There’s an indignant yelp answered by insolent laughter, and a fierce, though short battle of limbs until Regina has Emma pinned down on the mattress, her strong thighs locking her arms to her sides as she straddles her chest, her one hand moving through the air as pillows magically lift off the bed and hit Emma repeatedly on the head until she gasps her surrender between curses and shrill screams of laughter.

 

“Looks like your aim has improved,” Emma grins as Regina lazily gestures for the pillows to go back to their rightful place.

 

“Says the woman who still can’t manage to hit a target with both hands.”

 

“Only in  _ practice _ , god, woman! I handle myself really well in an actual fight!”

 

“Right, you just need to get that adrenaline pumping, don’t you Sheriff?”

 

“Well, you know what they say… freak in the sheets,  killer in the streets.”

 

“Nobody ever—”

 

Regina is cut short when Emma takes advantage of her distraction to free one of her hands and grab her lover by the neck, bringing her lips crashing down on her own in a hungry kiss.

 

“And speaking of adrenaline and all that good stuff,” she pants when they finally pull apart. “Do you know how hot it was to watch you ride again? your hair in the wind, your cheeks flushed, that winning smile on your face. You always look so beautiful, like you’re about to take on the whole world. You make me want you so much. Regina, I—”

 

She’s the one to be robbed off speech this time, as Regina ravages her mouth as if she wants to swallow her whole and her words and savor every inch of her.

 

“Emma…”

 

“I want you. Now.”

 

A sly grin, both arms coming free to cup Regina’s wonderful round ass and give it a squeeze.

 

“I want you to ride me, your majesty.”

 

Regina laughs, then hums, sucking her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes teasing as she slowly bends over Emma and reaches with her arm for the drawer of her bedside table…

 

Emma stops her, gently, righting the strap of Regina’s flimsy nightgown that has slipped down the short stump of Regina’s right arm, her smile nearly splitting her face in two when her lover gives her a curious look.

 

“Forget the strap-on. I want you on my face.”

 

She can practically see Regina’s pupils dilate and swallow her whole eyes in desire. Slowly, she lets Emma remove her nightgown, her back arching into the warmth of her mouth as she greets her two hard nipples with lips, tongue and teeth, whimpering when Emma seeks out her bare flesh under her panties and dips a cautious finger between her folds, bringing it back to her mouth with a happy moan.

 

“Appetizer.”

 

Emma lies back on the bed with a knowing smirk, and Regina is not long to rid herself of her underwear, following Emma down for a deep, searing kiss before climbing back up, spreading her thighs to cradle her head in a tight embrace, careful not to weigh on any of those long blonde locks, muscles rippling with strain and excitement as she waits, hovering, above Emma’s eager mouth.

 

“I’m gonna make you come so hard you’re not gonna be able to ride for days.”

 

Regina shivers as Emma’s breath brushes over her most sensitive place. “Trying to get me fired from my job already, Miss Swan?”

 

“You’re your own boss,” Emma grunts, frustrated to be denied her treat as she strains her neck to try and lick at Regina’s pussy, barely grazing the hot pink of her slit.

 

“I’m everybody’s boss,” Regina preens with that self-satisfied smirk that is as infuriating as it is charming, and Emma can’t wait anymore. She grabs Regina’s ass with both hands and forces her down on her mouth, groaning in relief as the familiar taste and scent of her lover finally surrounds her while Regina keels forward with a startled gasp, bracing herself on the headboard with her arm, using it as leverage as she starts gently rocking in time with Emma’s tongue, open and proud and loud and giving, giving all of herself to Emma while she chases and rides and takes her own pleasure freely, eventually coming on her lover’s face with a startled gasp and an exultant smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea has several origins but mostly it came from a friend telling me about a Regina fan wishing for more sex-positive and realistic portrayals of people with disabilities. I hope this fic contributed to fill the gap in its own little and humble way.
> 
> Reviews are always appreciated ♥


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